


Cough Syrup

by Yamiga



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms, Sherlock Holmes - Arthur Conan Doyle
Genre: Common Cold, Established Relationship, Fever, Humor, M/M, Oneshot, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-20
Updated: 2014-07-20
Packaged: 2018-02-09 15:43:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,104
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1988520
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Yamiga/pseuds/Yamiga
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock comes down with a cold, yet continues to fight against all odds and search for a case. John, who finds it both amusing and annoying, eventually intervenes and puts his stubborn detective in his place. Oneshot.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Cough Syrup

**Title: Cough Syrup**

 

**Summary: Sherlock comes down with a cold, yet continues to fight against all odds and search for a case. John, who finds it both amusing and annoying, eventually intervenes and puts his stubborn detective in his place. Oneshot.**

 

**Pairings: SherlockxJohn**

 

**Genre: Fluff, Romance.**

* * *

 

_Cough._

 

“You're sick.” John called from the arm chair, staring at Sherlock. He'd by now, put the morning paper down on the makeshift night stand after hearing the young detective cough for about the fifth time.

 

In the opposite arm chair, Sherlock sat with an either blank or absent expression plastered on his face. From what it looked like, he'd practically ignored John. “Pass me the paper.” He commanded, extending a hand. “Now_”

 

_Cough._ And his small fit began again. He slightly cringed as an annoying pain rang through his chest mere seconds before subsiding.

 

“You're sick.” John repeated again, this time, rather impatiently.

 

“Yes John, thank you for stating the obvious.” Sherlock replied with the same amount of attitude. “Now hand me the newspaper like I've asked.”

 

“Would it hurt you to ask nicely?” The doctor retorted as he stood and grabbed the paper. He placed it in Sherlock's open palm and made way back to his arm chair.

 

“And while you're rambling about my health, fix me some tea while you're up.” Sherlock didn't even look at John, he just gripped the paper tight within his grasp. The doctor only grunted and headed to the kitchen where he began heating the water.

 

Seconds later, two cups of tea were made and John found himself sitting back in the arm chair. Sherlock on the other hand had migrated to the couch, where he sat coughing and sipping his tea all at the same time. John was surprised he hadn't dropped the hot liquid in his lap.

 

“It's been an awfully boring and uneventful week, wouldn’t you agree?” Sherlock spoke, placing his mug on the table. 

 

“I'm actually enjoying our free time.” John replied. “And you should be as well.”

 

“Why on Earth would I enjoy 'free time'?” Sherlock jumped from his seat and began to walk around the small living room, pacing and observing. “The world is eventful, filled with_” And he began his coughing fit again. From behind John's chair, he brought a sleeved arm to his mouth, and winced as the cold rattled through his chest.

 

“Sherlock, “ John called softly. “You need to rest.” He looked behind his chair. “And your cough is dry. That's not good.”

 

“As..as...op...opposed to” Sherlock coughed in between words. “W...what? A...a wet cough?”

 

“Exactly.” John replied.

 

“And what do you...” Sherlock rolled his eyes and hopped back on the sofa. “I'm fine. I just need another case_”

 

“You can't work a case if you're ill.” The doctor retorted. 

 

“Illness is nothing but an excuse_”

 

“Sherlock.”

 

“John.”

 

Silence. Another cough. Grunts.

 

“Wait here.” John quickly stood and made way to the bedroom. He returned seconds later with a canister of dark purple liquid in his hand. Sherlock shot up from the sofa and stared. 

 

“What's that?” He asked, a hint of annoyance plagued his tone. 

 

“Cough syrup, have you seen it before?” John waved the bottle in front of him. Sherlock just stared.

 

“I don't use cough syrup.” The detective mustered.

 

“I find that quite surprising.” John mumbled. “After all the things you've taken.” He sat next to Sherlock on the sofa and nudged him. “Come on, just one cap full_”

 

“No.” Sherlock waved John's hand away. “That rubbish doesn't even work.”

 

“Yes, it does, and...I think I would know more than_”

 

“It's purely psychological, the affect that concoction has on a person. It's a marketing scam.” He sat up. “Idiots like you and everyone else buy it in hopes of getting better. In reality_”

 

“Sherlock,”

 

“It's only making you worse_”

 

“Shut up for once and just take the damn medicine!”

 

Another painful cough sounded.

 

“No.”

 

The doctor eventually sighed in defeat. “Fine, but you need to at least get some sleep.”

“Are you out of your mind? It's nine in the morning!” Sherlock actually sounded angry as he turned to face John. 

 

“Good God, you're sick_”

 

“We may have a client.” Sherlock tried to hold back a cough. “Coming in three hours. I need to get ready.” John groaned in anger.

 

“You know what, suit yourself!” He stood. “Everything I say goes through one ear, and comes out of the other.” Sherlock chuckled darkly as John vanished into the bedroom. Moments later, he stood himself, and followed the smaller man's path. 

 

Sherlock loomed over John from behind as the doctor took some clothes from the closet. John grabbed one of his usual polo's, sweater vests and slacks. He jumped a bit when he turned to face Sherlock, who still hovered above him.

 

“Excuse me.” John managed. “I need to_”

 

Sherlock grabbed his arm, and gazed down at him. He wore the same devilish grin that he'd learn to acquire whenever John (or anyone else) was pissed off at him. For others, that smile was supposed to make them angrier, but for John, it was 'supposed' to make him happier. However, after seeing his reaction countless numbers of time, Sherlock was quite certain yhsy John took the smile like everyone else.

 

“You're angry at me.” He murmured. 

 

“Sherlock, not now.” John some how twisted out of Sherlock's grasp and brushed past him, heading to the restroom. 

OoOoOoOoOo

 

Like Sherlock had predicted, a rather impatient client had rushed into their flat later that day. All three men stationed themselves in the living room. As usual, the client spoke, John tried to speak, and Sherlock cut him off.

In the midst of their conversations, Sherlock began to tug uncomfortably at his collar. He began to pull at it, and lightly rub his throat. 

 

Unnoticeable, John stared in his direction as the client continued talking, unaware of the detective's slight discomfort. Moments later, Sherlock began to cough, louder and longer than before. He clasped his fist over his mouth as he hacked for a few seconds longer. Even the client stopped and stared.

 

“Do you need a glass of water?” John managed from his seat.

 

“No,” Sherlock waved a hand. “That's fine. _And..”_ He stood and faced his client. “We're done here.”

 

“What?” The impatient man wore the same expression many wore when Sherlock rejected them.

 

“We're done.” Sherlock repeated. “If I actually took up your case, I'd be wasting my time. It is boring, unappealing, dull...should I go on?”

 

“But you're_”

 

“I have plans later on tonight. More importantly, arrangements much more interesting than what you've presented to me. Now,” Cough. “Get out..” Cough. Out of either anger of astonishment, the client got up and left the flat. 

 

OoOoOoOo

 

“Drink the damn water.” John shoved a glass in Sherlock's face and surprisingly, the detective didn't fight back. “And here, take these with it.” Two white pills were forced into Sherlock's palm as he sat on the bed, drinking the cool liquid. Seconds after, he swallowed both pills and finally found himself laying on the bed upon John's request. He'd done away with his overcoat, gloves and jacket since he wasn't going out any time soon. Taking a deep breath, he stared up at the ceiling and crossed his arms.

 

“You have a fever.” John spoke after placing a hand on Sherlock's forehead. “Do you feel pain anywhere else other than your throat and chest.”

 

“No.” Sherlock turned away from John and faced the wall.

 

The doctor just sighed and sat at the edge of the bed. “I know my nagging can be annoying.”

 

“I won't disagree there.” Sherlock replied. 

 

“Listen Sherlock,” It was one of those times when John tried to sound authoritative, but failed miserably. He moved up and now sat directly next to Sherlock, his back rested against the bed board. “You may be smart, intellectual , cunning...”

 

“Yes, go on.” There was a hint of humor in his voice as he turned to face John. The doctor simply rolled his eyes. 

 

“You're not immortal, and it's cold out there. If you go outside now, in your condition, chasing down a case, you might_”

 

“I had arrangements for tonight...We had arrangements for tonight.” He actually sounded kind of upset as he spoke. His voice became more hushed and slower. There wasn't really any sarcasm hidden in his tone.

 

“Is it another case?” John crossed his arms. “Are you sure you want to try to see another client after the one earlier turned out_”

 

“Reservations.” Sherlock breathed. “I had made reservations for you and I tonight.” Silence ensued as John looked away from Sherlock. Never had the younger man hit him with such a surprise. A case would've been more believable. 

 

“You...we? You were taking me out to...eat?”

 

“To eat.” Sherlock didn't look at John either.

 

It was odd, because while the two had an established relationship of the sort, Sherlock rarely if ever did anything romantic. The first and only time they'd really gone out eating was when they first met each other, and they weren't even dating then (though they lived together.). Other than that, they'd walked through the park a few times and occasionally Sherlock would try to steal a kiss in public (and succeed). However, this was new, this was different.

 

“Why?” John found himself asking.

 

“I just thought you'd like it.”

 

“Well, I would.” John finally faced Sherlock. “Thank you.”

 

“Why are you thanking me?” Sherlock gazed into John's eyes. “You won't let me leave the room.”

 

“Because the intention behind it was...exceptional. It seems you know me a lot better than I thought.” He stood. “But I know how you can make up for it.”

 

“Of course I know you. You are an open book...” Sherlock's voice drifted as the doctor headed towards the door. 

 

John left the room and in less than a minute, returned with the bottle of cough syrup. Rolling his eyes, Sherlock sat up in anticipation. “Let's just get this over with.”

 

John got on the bed and crawled next to Sherlock. “You said it, not me. Here you go.” He filled the cap up all the way with the dark colored liquid. Before Sherlock could change his mind, John forced the medication through his lips and down his throat.

 

The detective's twisted facial expression was priceless. He paled, he coughed, fidgeted and gagged. All the while, John placed the medicine down on the night stand, and stared in amusement. 

 

“This is awful!” Sherlock hissed, swallowing down the last bit. He reached over John and got his water from the table. He drank a bit of it and placed it back down.

 

“Feeling better? Or are you going to blame it on a marketing_”

 

Sherlock had quickly scooted over towards John, grabbed him and placed a very hot, sloppy and hungry kiss on his lips. The doctor had to fight his own conscience in order to push the detective away, but that worked to no avail. For about a good thirty seconds, both men remained intertwined in each others locked lips until finally, Sherlock had to gasp for air. He broke the kiss yet still held tightly to John, pulling the older man into a very firm embrace.

 

“What the hell Sherlock?! Do you want me to get sick too?”

 

“Well why don't you just take the cough syrup?” Sherlock rubbed a hand through John's hair. “It'll make you feel better, won't it? You should know all about_”

 

“So that's what this is about? Are you that childish? Did you have to get me sick just so you could satisfy yourself?” He could hear the deep rattle emitting from Sherlock's chest as his partner chuckled. 

 

“What would you do if I told you I loved you? If the words actually came out of my mouth with some genuine emotion sown within them?” Sherlock asked, still running a hand through John's hair.

 

“That's an odd question.” John replied, feeling a bit of his anger die down. He hated when Sherlock angered him, just to get back under his skin only seconds after their disuputes. “I guess I'd say, I probably love you more.”

 

Sherlock ran a hand down John's back and up his shirt, pressing down on the soft skin. “Not a chance.” And with that, he kissed his ailing partner's forehead. 

Maybe being sick for a day wasn't so bad. With this in mind, Sherlock closed his eyes and began to drift.

 

“But seriously,” John broke the silence. “I may need some cough syrup. I feel like I'm coming down with something.”

 

**Author's Note:**

> Woah, first Sherlock fic. Just a small oneshot! I hope you guys like it! I do not own BBC Sherlock.


End file.
